


Roses.

by eujie



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: F/M, Hanahaki Disease, Help, cliché as fuck, for seni, made an acc for this, my first fic its shitty, this is cringe now that im looking back at it, this is kinda short sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:36:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23998390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eujie/pseuds/eujie
Summary: Those eyes were never for her.
Relationships: Arthur Pendragon/Paracelsus Von Hohenhiem
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Roses.

**Author's Note:**

> For Seni.  
> (Thank you Riana for proofreading.)

_The first time they met, she was a wild youth and he was a distressed alchemist._  
_The second time they met, she was a mature king and he was someone different._  
_The third time they met, she was a forsaken wanderer and he was a completed individual._

_His touch was warmth and the form of solace she sought._  
As he held her, waves of relief saturate her soul. Even if his hands were frigid-- scarred with age and cicatrix of chemical substance; it could effortlessly comfort a heavy heart, ease the burden of a king. And her-- she did everything to retain the warmth by her side. She indulged him in generous treatment and expensive gifts. She'd drizzle him in compliments, assurance, and sweet smiles. Tailoring every adjustment to his favor, fulfilling every request deemed possible-- there's no limit. Even if he asked for half her kingdom, she wouldn't hesitate. Not even once.

 _His hair was silky and navy._  
Ever since she'd closely observed it once during a walk in the gardens, she longed to braid his hair for him. A dream she'd so desired to be brought to reality; frosty, calloused hands slowly working around his locks, twisting, and twining-- to weave plaits. Dressing it in cornflowers and lavender, a smile from his face that completes the painting; the lingering feel of intimacy and poise. And that was all she needed.

 _His voice was sultry and mellifluous._  
" _Sing to me_." She asked of him. And he sang her a short lullaby-- euphonious and warm. Words were honey on his tongue; Arthur was slowly enraptured by the drip of the consonants as he spoke, the movement of thin lips-- all so in loving and fervent sense. She wishes those words were of a different manner. That those words were passionate. That those words were loving. _That those words were for her_. Yet, one could only dream.

She remembers. The time where she embraced him in his state of sorrow and crisis, where his tears fall gently on her shoulder. The tinge of crimson that painted her cheeks, as he rested his body onto hers'. A tranquil moment-- devoid of words or voices but the sound of heartbeat. _There were no titles, no glory, no rules-- but two people who loved each other._

_But she knew those eyes were for someone else._

* * *

  
_"Dance with me?"_  
He smiles, and takes her hand.

The night is still young; as the string ensemble spun a polished waltz, the pianist steadily flowing along with the placid pace. Gentle strings; soothing and alleviating. She holds him, gracefully moving to the beat-- sophisticated steps and clumsy slips, an intoxicating gaze shared between them. Aureate eyes meeting hers'; a curve to his lips she deemed adorable-- somehow, it made her feel... elevated. A grasp on his hands that seem to be too tight, an averse she had to loosening the grip. She felt that-- if she were to let go-- he would be gone. Forever, and for good. _No-- she shouldn't ponder such now._  
As they waltzed through the empty ballroom, their eyes locked; never seem to be wanting to part-- an intimate moment that one wishes was everlasting. She has the audacity to yearn for more. A mutually shared silence; a transition into a buoyant chorus as they twirl across pristine tiles.

" _Arthur_."  
He calls her name.  
Her name is poison on his lips.

_You know those eyes aren't for you._

A hoarse cough ruptures through the atmosphere; as she tasted a metallic tang in on her tongue. She breaks free of the embrace, a worried expression adorns the man. Her gaze abruptly diverted to the ground-- where rose petals had fallen onto the tiles; stained with fresh blood. She scrambles to grasp at the petals. Realization dawned upon her too late. A smile she bore with weak eyes, whispering a fleeting apology-- _"I'm sorry."_ as she left the hall without any further words. He was left there alone, the quartet coming to adagio to an abrupt end.

It festers. It gnaws at her lungs, a prickly sensation in her body. She coughs again. Her throat feels harsh and dry.  
Her slender fingers reach to cup the petals, caressing the silk surface.  
_This time, the petals are larger. They bear the same shade of roses she sent him. V_ _arnishes of claret._  
Ironic.

_His eyes were never on you._

* * *

  
As days pass, the roses grow and the coughs become more frequent.  
While one is shut away in her personal library, refusing to see him despite multiple attempts. There was the guilt that ate away at her, but she knew disclosure wasn't an option. _His eyes are for another._ In a haste attempt to apologize indirectly, the number of roses sent to him were increased. She requested her court to supply her with books and guides related to the disease-- they pile up in a corner, as she desperately looked for a solution.

_Hanahaki Disease._  
_A disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. The suffering only ends when the victim dies or their feelings are returned._

A quirk of a brow.  
To return her feelings? A jest and a fantasy too crude.  
She erupts into a fit of laughter; a strain of pain in her tone.

An alternative solution-- is to have a sort of removal surgery. But in doing so will remove her memories and affection for him.  
A clash between options.

One ponders to herself.

_She was brought into this world to serve._  
_She was knighted and loved._  
_She was betrayed._  
_She was rebirthed._

_A hollow shell of a king she was._  
_Wherein once the people praised her name in honor--_  
_the folk now mutter curses under their breath._

_She has already lost herself._  
_She can not lose him._  
_Not again._

_**FATE** is a cruel deity._  
_To bring her misfortune even to this life._

_Nay, she brought it upon herself._  
_Attachment is a fool's decision._  
_Now it's time to face the consequences._

A loud, harsh cough into her palm.  
_It's a full blossom, in a pretty shade of carmine._

There isn't much time left.

_Would you still love me?_

* * *

  
_"Arthur?"_  
He calls her name again. A slow twist of the doorknob, evanescent footsteps trace to her side. She smiles sickly, as if to shatter-- akin to fragile china. She lays dormant on the cold bed. He kneels, placing his hands onto hers. His eyes are loving. _If only._ The thorns and bloom has worn her lungs and heart weak; yet with the last essence of life in her soul-- she still refuses to converse much with him. She will succumb to the disease sooner or later. It is a matter of time. A coward-- a youthful version of herself would say. _She fears rejection. She fears betrayal._

But seeing him care so dearly for her,  
it's almost enough for her to drive him out of this forsaken place.  
_To forget her._  
_To forget him._

_"Please, talk to me."_

_"I can't. Not right now."_

_"Are you alright? You've locked yourself away for far too long."_

_"Yes. I'm fine, Paracelsus. I'll feel better sooner or later."_

**_Will you?_ **

_"If you say so._ _Also, I wanted to thank you for the roses. They are lovely."_

  
He offers her a smile. She chokes up a smile back.  
He departs from her quarters, a shadow of his warmth as she embraced the lingering feel.  
Holding dearly to a ghost of him.

She coughs again.  
Blooms fall to the ground, smudged with blood.

_Will your eyes be for me again?_

* * *

She treads lightly through the halls.  
She had asked for his presence-- if possible --to meet her in the garden.  
She has a few words. Little words that carry a burden.

And there he is.  
_In the gazebo, dressed in a draping ivory array. A kind smile he'd gift her._  
_He sits by a platter of various sweets and a vintage tea set._  
_A truly beautiful sight to behold-- sun-kissed skin and melodious chirping._

_Will your eyes finally be on me?_

She sits behind him, a nod for permission-- and begins steadily braiding his hair.  
Turning, twisting, interweaving. Roses, daisies, gardenias, daffodils pose as ornaments. A dash of vivid color, contrary to the cold navy blue hair. Constricting. Her fingers feel warm under the weight of those locks, tenderly running through them. A completed painting, finally brought to an end by the artist. Satisfaction pools into her heart. She turns to his side, placing roses into his palm-- pushing it to close into a fist.

_A sweet smile._  
_Not from a king._  
_Not from a forgotten wanderer._  
_But from her._

_Arthur._

**_Just Arthur._ **

A low breath in his ear. She tugs him close, their lips inches away from meeting.  
A surprised expression, yet he doesn't pull away.  
They stay frozen.

_Still._

_Those eyes still aren't for her._

She feels the last red string of **FATE** cut.  
She feels the last drop of life in her falter.  
She collapses into his arms.

He panics. Seeing the peach color drain from her face, all is left is the paleness and the frost of a corpse.  
She chokes a last blossom out, a final rose.  
He holds her.

_Constricting._  
_The stems and the thorns enfolds her lungs and her heart._

Her sight blurred and impaired; a single salty tear rolls down.  
Blood drips down her rose beige lips.

_It's only for the best._  
_She'll bring her secret to the grave._  
_Now it's time to bear consequences of a fool's yearning._

_"Paracelsus."_

Her vision goes to black.

_**I love you.** _

**Author's Note:**

> pls tell me it made you shed at least a little... baby... tear....  
> if not I have failed angst  
> this also was really short lol haha bye xx


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